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Welcome!! You have reached my masterlist for the reapers. If that was your intention, do carry on, if not head back to my main masterlist for other characters. If you want to request go back there too for the latest info, also my askbox is currently open!! Enjoy your stay!

Undertaker

Loads of stories coming your way!!

Oneshots

Headcanons

Drabbles

Non-Fiction

Grell Sutcliff

More to come!

Oneshots

Headcanons

William T. Spears

Coming soon!

Oneshots

Headcanons

Drabbles

Othello

Oneshots

Headcanons

Ronald Knox

Keep an eye out!

Oneshots

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Hello again!! You said unhappy and you sure have got it! Seriously though, this is completely different to what I normally write and if anyone’s feeling at all bad about themselves, please don’t read this. Links to happy Grell stories in my masterlist 😂 Also, male pronouns for Grell as requested and a gender neutral reader.

❗️Warnings; aaaaangst, all the way through. Very sad. Blood/injury/violence. Death.

Masterlist

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How. How could this possibly happen? Grell’s mouth was dry, his fingers gripping the dreaded black notebook so hard his knuckles were starting to turn white. This was some sort of mistake, right? Had to be. Because Grell had already been through so much, had barely managed to claw himself back from the edge of despair and had continued doing so through finding you - you couldn’t possibly go now. This was not your time.

-

“So where are we going now?” You were walking next to Ciel through the cobbled streets of London, Sebastian half a step behind. A recent string of murders were proving more trouble than they were worth and all you kept coming across were dead ends. The police force had really tightened their ranks around this case and were not giving the earl any more than the bare minimum of information, despite his position as the Queen’s Guard Dog.

“The authorities aren’t going to help us with this,” Ciel informed you gravely. “They appear to have lost their faith in me and as such are using it as an excuse to not cooperate. There is only one other person I know who will help us with this.” A few minutes later, you were standing in front of an out-of-the-way shop, the sign of which loudly proclaimed ‘Undertaker’. You raised a questioning eyebrow at Ciel, who dismissed your confusion with a light wave of his hand.

Sebastian held open the door for you both to enter and you thanked him as you walked through, ignoring the chill curling up your spine at the creaking of the old hinges. The room was so dark you could hardly see anything, but the earl didn’t seem concerned.

“Undertaker, are you here?” He called, glancing around for the man in question. As it turned out, you would be the one to almost collapse in terror when the coffin propped up on the wall behind you slowly swung open, revealing someone dressed as though he were attending a funeral standing inside it. Your reaction was enough to make him giggle, which Ciel simply tutted at. “We’re here for information about your most recent guests, the police are refusing to hand anything over.” After a good twenty minutes of trying to make him laugh, Sebastian finally succeeded and you were once again on your way, this time with both a lead and destination in mind.

The people you were chasing were a notorious circle of smugglers who excelled at their craft and whose organisation had been doing so for the last century. The people being murdered were those who had tried to escape from the ring, bound only to it by their predecessors’ decisions to join it. The circle dared not let them escape, lest they hand over any information to the authorities and disrupt the entire ongoing operation. Their current storage unit was hidden in an abandoned warehouse at the dodgy end of the Thames, nestled between two disused docks. It was perfect really - they could take a boat by night to pick up and drop off their goods and nobody was any the wiser. Not until now, at least. But your downfall came in not realising they had their own network of eyes and ears.

The warehouse was empty when you got there; no smuggled goods, no people who were smuggling them. Not so much as a scrap of paper to be used as evidence. You had split up to search the main floor, you insisting that Sebastian stayed with and protected Ciel, given that you were something of an old hand at this. Pistol in hand, for precaution’s sake, you carried out your search quickly and efficiently. You found nothing of any interest, until you came across several large stacks of crates. They secluded you from the rest of the warehouse, but you were so intent on finding something to help further the investigation that you didn’t even think about it, certain the whole place was empty. But oh how wrong you were.

In a split second, an entire stack of wooden crates fell forward, more than enough to crush you to death had you been any slower in jumping out of the way. On your hands and knees and breathing heavily from shock, you crawled back to your feet only to let out a strangled whimper of pain. Searing agony was pulsing through your lower back and you were hardly able to look back over your shoulder to see the face of your assailant. The man, dressed all in black with a piece of material covering his face forced the knife further in until you both heard something crack sickeningly. With that, he let go of the hilt and watched you collapse to the ground, body twisted helplessly and incapable of doing anything more than wheeze in pain, desperately trying to fill your lungs with air that didn’t want to come. Your mouth was filling with blood even as you weakly tried to spit it out, your vision starting to distort. You just had to hold on a bit longer, just until Ciel got here and caught the man, no doubt one of the smugglers…

When butler and earl had heard the almighty crash, they glanced towards each other for but a second before they started running towards the source of the noise, Sebastian ahead of Ciel. Ciel was fighting back a nausea that he didn’t want to admit to having at the thought that the noise had come from the direction in which you had gone.

You kept your eyes locked on the man for as long as you could, him doing to the same to you as he watched the damage he had caused slowly consume you. You had never felt so sick in your life. Grell meanwhile, was running as fast as his already inhuman speed could allow him too. He was not going to let you die, no matter what. You were too important, your death would be a loss to this world. To his world. He was not going to allow it.

You watched the man even as he turned tail to run, as he was met by Sebastian’s fist and help off of the ground by his throat. Ciel’s shattered whisper of your name was enough to bring tears to your eyes, should your body have been capable of producing them. Even Sebastian’s eyes were wide. You could imagine the state your back was in, but had you not, the look of horror and guilt rising in the boy’s, no, your boy’s eyes was enough to tell you. The earl couldn’t even put a hand to the wound to stem the blood flow; it was so deep and wide, so cruel, there wasn’t even a discernible area to apply pressure to. It took every ounce of concentration you had left to look up at Ciel, to try and convey through your eyes alone that you loved him, that he would be alright. There were tears in his eyes.

Just as you could feel your mind starting to fade, a shattering of glass managed to grab your attention once more. There was a blur of crimson, lighter than the patches of your own no staining the concrete around you, and a deafening screech as the perfect chain saw, the one Grell was so proud of, was dropped with its chain still whirring to the ground. The reaper’s hands were cupping your cheeks in seconds, wiping away the moisture your eyes had given out and trying to get rid of the rosy red, the red he loved so much on you, from your sickly face. It was hopeless and somewhere deep within his heart he knew it, but he wasn’t giving up yet. Your lips formed Grell’s name once, twice, but you were too weak for your voice to come out.

He was sobbing, teeth bared and face wrenched in agony and Sebastian and Ciel were there but he didn’t care, because it was you, it was his Y/N who was bleeding out before his very eyes and there was nothing he could do. He was a god of death and you were dying and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t have gotten here any faster, couldn’t have punished his lungs or his legs or his heart any more than he already had and he had only seen that God forsaken To-Die list ten minutes previously, while he was thinking about which restaurant to take you to for this evening’s date night. His hands shook as he remembered the silly teddy bear he’d bought you only yesterday, the plush one holding a heart that had ‘I’ll love you forever’ embroidered on it in gold thread. It had been in his cupboard for a month now because he hadn’t been able to pick the right time to give it to you - he’d wanted it to be perfect.

“I got you a bear,” he choked out, watching the speed of your blinking become ever more lethargic. “It’s holding a heart.” A dry sob, a pale face slick with a stream of tears that wouldn’t stop coming, turning red as they mixed with your blood. “It - it says, ‘I love you’. I love you, Y/N, you know that, right? I-” He couldn’t breathe. His ears were ringing with white noise and the only real sound were your gargled breaths, each one taking less oxygen into your blood than the last. “Don’t go, Y/N,” he whispered out at last, voice coarse and rough but he didn’t care, because this was the last thing he was ever going to be able to say to you. “Please, please don’t go. I can’t.. I don’t know what to do without you. I’m nothing without you. Please Y/N- Y/N? Y/N look at me. Look at me. Sweetheart open your eyes, plea–” A whimper tore itself from the back of his throat as your hand went limp in his. Your chest no longer moved, your laboured breathing ceased; he heard your heart stop beating. That didn’t stop the raw, feral howl of pain the reaper gave as he curled his arms around your body, as he begged you to wake up. It was over. He barely registered the muffled sniffling of the boy crouched next to him, nor the way Sebastian for once held his tongue. One glance towards that wretched death scythe was enough to bring a burning fury to every fibre of his being.

“I will not,” he hissed out, hand subconsciously smoothing down your hair. “Not to you. There is not a being in this world or any other who could make me.” With that he reached into his pocket and drew out the black, leather bound notebook, opened it to random page and ripped it in two clean down the spine. “I will come back for you my darling,” he whispered before standing up, “I swear.” The reaper stooped down to haul his death scythe over his shoulder, allowing the gleaming chrome to get scratched as he dragged it for a moment against the concrete. It was barely a few minutes before he stormed into the office of one William T. Spears.

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocki - oh, Sutcliff, it’s you,” was the bored, uninterested greeting he was given and when he didn’t reply, the other reaper eventually looked up from his paperwork. “I’m listening, Sutcliff, what’s the-” he cut himself off abruptly. It wasn’t the fact that Grell was covered in blood, that was a fairly normal occurrence for those in collections. It wasn’t really even the scratched and bloodied paintwork of the scythe he cared so much about, though that added to the image. It was that Grell’s perfect makeup was flawed beyond repair, that his eyes were puffy and red in a way that only tears which truly hurt can cause, that his hair was tangled and his chartreuse gaze was wild with anger and defiance, fuelled onward by unadulterated agony.

“You monster,” he spat out, “you knew. You knew what they meant to me when you gave me that list, don’t you dare try to deny it. I knew you were cold and calculating, but how could you do this?” Grell was for once talking quietly, albeit with a growling quality, for he knew if he raised his voice now he could never stop. He didn’t give William a chance to respond. “Well do you know what? Enough’s enough. I quit.” Grell dropped the scythe on the desk, denting and splintering the polished hardwood surface and scattering the carefully organised piles of paper. He then picked up the book one last time and with a look of fury William thought even he couldn’t rival, Grell slammed it down on the free section of desk between his hands. As his former class and work mate left his office with tears flowing once again, the management reaper was left staring at a profile page, your smiling face looking past him and into the distance. The ‘uncollected’ stamp was still written next to your name, two drops of dried blood marring your death date.

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“ 𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝. 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲… 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 ”

- 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒔

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